Literary Pursuits
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Ezri and Julian discuss a classic Earth novel while meaning something else entirely.


Literary Pursuits

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

Copyright: Paramount

Julian and Ezri were at their usual table at Quark's, nursing Fanalian toddies and talking so enthusiastically that the waiter, whenever he came to refill their bottle, had to clear his throat twice. The doctor and the counselor had taken to lending each other books and discussing them at length, especially the classics of Human literature. In fact, Ezri's copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens had recently saved Julian's life.

During their hallucinatory 'head trip' through Luther Sloan's brain to find a cure for Odo's morphogenic virus, Sloan had nearly trapped Miles and Julian inside his dying brain by making them think they were back in their quarters. If Julian hadn't realized that Ezri's book was not real (after a certain page, it began all over again) all three of them, and by extension Odo and the Changeling race, would have died.

Julian had always enjoyed reading, but after that, he found his interest in literature had noticeably increased.

All the same … "A romance novel?" he asked, trying not to wrinkle his nose.

"It's not just any romance novel," Ezri argued. "It has elements of a mystery, a ghost story, a social commentary on early twentieth-century England … and it's a very personal story to me. I can't really explain without spoiling the ending for you, but … you could just try it."

She pushed Daphne du Maurier's _Rebecca_ across the table with such hopeful blue eyes that Julian simply couldn't say no. He took the antique, crimson-colored hardback to his quarters, sat down, and read it in two hours flat, his genetically enhanced eyes flitting across the pages like bees harvesing honey.

During his next evening with Ezri, he gave it back with a wry smile. "You were right. It's not just another romance novel."

"I told you."

"The writing style is absurdly overdone, the moral as obvious as a Klingon mating call, the leads have no chemistry, and that demonic housekeeper gives me the willies. But there's something fascinating about it all the same, isn't there?"

Ezri chuckled at the expression 'willies'.

"I just feel so sorry for the girl," said Ezri. "The narrator, I mean. Being a paid companion for so long has completely erased her sense of self – be quiet, don't call any attention to yourself, etc. And then along comes this amazing, charismatic man whom she loves so much, and he undermines her even more without even meaning to. And Rebecca – don't even get me started on Rebecca!"

"You really do need a vacation, Counselor, when you're analyzing fictional characters."

Ezri rolled her eyes. "Okay. So what do you think?"

"Me?" He shrugged and thought for a few seconds. "Hmm … well, I do agree with you about Mrs. de Winter. Good Lord, she doesn't even have her own name! Always 'you' or 'darling' or 'the bride' … tripping over traces of her husband's dead first wife in every corner of their estate. Not to mention the demonic Mrs. Danvers."

"It would've been hard enough for an ordinary woman," said Ezri, frowning slightly into her drink. "But for her … she was so young, so shy, and Rebecca's figurative shoes were so much too big for her. Gorgeous, witty, confident, a perfect lady … always the comparison. 'You're so different from Rebecca'."

Julian had guessed, as soon as he first read the novel_,_ why Ezri would be so deeply invested in a story like this. It was uncanny, really, how much the unnamed bride's experience resembled reassociation, as a joined Trill understood it: living the life of your dead predecessor, wearing her clothes, running her household, living with her mate, constantly under her shadow. The greatest taboo, drawing planetary exile in its wake, and for good reason: a life like this could drive you mad. Especially if, like Mrs. de Winter, you felt inferior to those who came before.

"I liked Mrs. de Winter," said Julian. "She's honest and kind. And she's got a wonderful imagination, always daydreaming."

Ezri smiled a little, and then sighed.

"Jadzia couldn't stand her," she said, not quite unexpectedly. Julian had wondered when that name would come up; it seemed inevitable. "She thought she – Mrs. de Winter – had no backbone. She thought Rebecca was so much more interesting, for all she's dead throughout the novel."

"Rebecca didn't make Maxim happy," said Julian, catching Ezri's eye to make sure she understood – he was talking about more than fictional characters here.

Ezri took a long swig of her drink and slammed it down. "Maxim is a problem all to himself," she grumbled. "He patronized her. All that cool, noble, I-know-better-than-you, older-man stuff – it made her feel even more mousy and childish. And he couldn't get it into his thick head to stop comparing her with Rebecca."

"What happened to true love?" asked Julian, just to play devil's advocate, as he really didn't approve of Maxim either.

Ezri shook her cropped head very decidedly. "Not across two lifetimes, no."

She seemed to have forgotten, for a moment, that the first and second Mrs. de Winter were _not_ two hosts of the same symbiont.

"So I take it you don't approve of the ending?" he inquired.

"Ugh! Trapped in a boring hotel in a foreign country with Maxim? Manderley burned down? A potential murder charge hanging over their heads? Are you kidding?"

That was clear enough.

"Do you think she could have lived with herself, though, betraying Maxim?" Julian argued. "She did love him very much."

"He _murdered_ Rebecca!" Ezri's face was twisted into a look of utter revulsion.

"Well, the way he saw it, Rebecca was pregnant by another man, which was just one hit too many after all the affairs she had – "

"He could've just divorced her, couldn't he? Was that legal yet on Earth at the time?"

"It was, but it would have made a serious scandal."

"Oh, yeah, and that's all he cared about, isn't it?" Ezri retorted scathingly. "His name. His stupid _honor._ So he shot an unarmed pregnant woman – how honorable is that?"

"Not very," Julian conceded.

"A person who's already killed someone," Ezri continued more soberly, "Is more likely to do it again than a person who never has. It's like a barrier's been broken in your mind. That's why they do those virtual combat exercises at Starfleet Academy, right? The more you get used to shooting holograms, the easier it is to shoot real life forms in a real battle. So Mrs. de Winter had better watch out."

She spoke from experience, in that old-soul, joined-Trill way of hers, even though Julian knew that Ezri herself had only been in battle once or twice. It always left him somewhat in awe of her when she did that; she sounded so much older than she looked.

"If I were her," she said firmly, "I'd've turned him over to the police and gotten together with Frank Crawley."

Julian nearly choked on his drink from laughing.

"Frank - Frank _Crawley_? The fussy little accountant, seriously?"

"He was genuinely kind," Ezri argued. "The only character in the whole book who treated her with respect. He told her she had good qualities Rebecca never had. She should have listened to him."

Julian shook his head at Ezri's odd view on things; he wondered if the venerable Ms. du Maurier was turning in her grave right now.

Another question occurred to him, which he couldn't resist asking, even though he knew it would bring them into rather risky territory.

"So, Ezri, who am I in this scenario?"

Her blue eyes, the only points of her face where she resembled Jadzia, widened in surprise. She looked down into her glass as if the answer to all her questions lay at the bottom.

"Um. I, I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's obvious that you identify yourself with the narrator," he explained. "And Jadzia with Rebecca. Now, is there a place for me in this? Am I Maxim de Winter or Frank Crawley?"

She flushed all the way to the spots at the roots of her hair. "Now who's analyzing whom, Doctor?"

"Just curious," he said, blinking at her with innocent hazel eyes.

"There's really no comparison," she hedged. "I mean, Jadzia was a wonderful person. A good officer, a good friend … a loving wife. And Worf would never have hurt a hair on her head."

"So Worf _is_ your Maxim. Does that make me your Frank?"

"I didn't say that!" She pushed him lightly on the shoulder, smiling in spite of herself. "You're so annoying sometimes, you know?"

"All right, all right. I'm sorry."

After a pause, when he thought that Ezri had more or less calmed herself down, he found he had one more thing to say.

"I must admit, Ezri, that in some ways you've got an even harder time than Mrs. de Winter."

Ezri's eyes softened and she took his hand, just as she had done the day they met.

"I'm okay, Julian," she said. "No need to worry."

"At least she had the luxury of hating her predecessor, in the end."

"I know what you mean. The moral high ground and all that. But honestly, having Joran and Verad in my head is bad enough. I couldn't handle living with another host I hated." Ezri shuddered

"I'm glad you see it that way," said Julian, noting that even his genetically-enhanced mind found it hard to wrap itself around such an experience.

"Jadzia helps me a lot, actually. Her confidence, her sense of humor, her spirit of adventure … not to mention her insights on this crew. I've been trying to see her good qualities as parts of _me_, instead of some ideal I can't measure up to. After all, that's the purpose of a joining, isn't it?"

Julian found it just a little bit odd to refer to Jadzia as if she were still present – which come to think of it, she was, her life's memories stored inside the Dax symbiont's mind. But then again, that was Ezri Dax, and he wouldn't change her for the universe.

"At least you haven't got a Mrs. Danvers," he remarked.

"Thank the gods!" said Ezri, clasping her hands and laughing out loud.


End file.
